It's Okay. I'm Okay... Or I Will Be.

As I sit at a desk that's actually clean enough for me to put my laptop on, drinking water instead of Diet Coke and coffee, next to a bed that's cleaned off to the point that i'm not sleeping under clothes, I am actually caught up on all of my reading for my classes, have a few volunteer hours under my belt already, and seemingly have my life together. I got 10 hours of sleep last night and woke up early enough to go get breakfast and have a little bit of leisure time before my first class. On paper, i've actually got my life together (or as together as a 19 year old can get), but as I was sitting in class this morning I realized that I don't have anything together. At all. This semester has hit me like a freight train, and i've just kind of been laying on the tracks trying to figure out how to stand back up.
If you know me pretty well, you know that i'm pretty honest. You also know that I had a super rough month long patch in October last year that culminated with a doctors visit on Halloween last year. In the name of honesty, I have to talk about that experience. I left that doctors office with a Prozac prescription and a complete feeling of defeat. I hadn't felt as bad as I did at that point since I was in the eleventh grade (which we just don't talk about. Ever.). I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of being stabilized by drugs and took them for two and a half months before deciding to come off of them cold turkey. If you know anything about this, you know that sometimes it's not the easiest thing to do. I'm in a much better place than I was in October, but it's still not the easiest time of my life. Sometimes things happen with friends that freak you out and kind of turn you into an anxiety ridden psychopath for a month. Sometimes you make a 30% on a Geology quiz and decide that rocks aren't your speciality. Sometimes you sit in Starbucks for hours overanalyzing everything. And then sometimes, you cry in your bathroom floor over pizza.
Life hits you hard sometimes. You make realizations that hurt you so much that you can't breathe and make you feel like less than dirt. You lose friends and it honestly feels like you're going through the hardest breakup of your life. People drunkenly admit things to you and then seemingly forget about any semblance of feelings that they had. Guys leave and then come back and then leave and the come back AGAIN, and you let it happen even though they've hurt you repeatedly. Vases break and Chick fil A forgets your Chick fil A sauce. Life pushes you down and keeps you there. In the words of my friends about me, "It's like that day that you wore your John Mayer shirt and you had a test and it rained and you cried for 3 hours. But that's life."
So what am I trying to say here? I'm not okay. And that's okay. My life has been a mess lately, and that's okay. Why do we all try to act like we've got it together? No one has it together! I promise you that no one that you know has it together. That girl that keeps everything clean and organized and is involved and has a boyfriend and a 4.0 GPA? Yeah not even her. So I say it's time that we all say that we say that we're not okay. Our Instagrams may be happy and smiling, but what does your Tumblr look like? What do you actually feel on a day to day basis? Embrace that and realize that other people are there too. You will be okay eventually. And so will I. Life will come together. You will keep walking and kick life's ass after it has kicked yours. So hold your head high and keep walking. It's okay to not be okay.

Sink or Swim

     I remember the first time that I jumped off of a diving board. I was five or six and my parents had signed me up for swimming lessons and the final test of these lessons was to jump off of a diving board into the deep end of the pool and swim to the ladder. Well, that just had "NOPE. NUH UH." written all over it for little me. I cried and yelled and protested until the point that my swimming instructor very gracefully gave me a push (literally...) off of the diving board. It was at that point that six year old survival mode kicked in and I swam with all of the dignity that a child with a diva complex could muster after being forced to do something that she didn't want to do. After that experience, I've swam like a fish and never met a diving board that I didn't instantly become friends with.
     The more that I think about this experience, the more that I realize that it is a great metaphor for growing up as a whole. As an 18 year old staring adulthood and responsibility in the face, I realize that I am standing at the edge of the diving board, apprehensively staring into the deep end of bills and buying my own groceries and not turning all of my white clothes pink and getting out of bed before noon and somehow managing to not lose all of my personal belongings without my mom following behind me picking up my trail of misplaced sunglasses and phones and goodness knows what else. For the past thirteen years, i've been in "swimming lessons." My hand has been held as I have learned how to navigate life. My parents have taught me how to stand on my own two feet and be strong in myself. My teachers have taught me the things that I needed to know to pass the tests to get into my dream school. Some of my teachers have also taught me invaluable life lessons that will continue to travel far past the classroom, and I will never be able to thank them enough for that. I've been taught how to write checks, even though I still can't quite figure out when i'm ever going to use them (isn't everything online nowadays??? ((kidding))(((kinda))). My mother has told me the things to spend my money on and the things to resist (food is essential. Makeup is not. Laundry is essential. Buying clothes so that you don't have to do laundry is not.) I know how to take tests and how to study and people skills and how to small talk and make myself seem like a really monumental addition to society. So I guess you could say that in the shallow end of the pool of life, i'm doggy paddling along just well, thank you very much! But I am still not prepared for doing backstrokes in 8 feet of responsibility.
     I have slowly started to realize that on August 9th, I will move away from all of the people who are holding my hand and they will push me off of the diving board. I'm sure there will be tears and knowing my flair for the dramatic probably some kicking and screaming (because I still have that six year old diva complex). Just like in swimming lessons, my "instructors" will be there to jump in the pool if I forget how to swim, but they have faith that I will make it to the ladder (or in this case, college graduation and managing to get an adult job). I've learned how to not let myself be ran over. I've learned to never, ever compromise who I am for anyone. And most importantly I've realized that if God is at the center of what I do, I will not fail. With all of this, I should be a member of the olympic swimming team in no time (metaphorically in life, of course, because Mary and sports are not a combination that ever go together. Ever.). With all of this said, in a month and a half, I guess it's time for me to sink or swim.